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Fic!
Title: The Fact of the Matter
Author: me
Pairing: H/D
Rating: PG
Summary: Harry gets a very unwelcome visit. (The third in the Marriage arc, after Ways to Say No and What Malfoys Do.)
Disclaimer: NOT MINE. Oh, I wish. Don't we all.
....
Part 3:
The Fact of the Matter
Harry stood in his kitchen and stared. It was a nice kitchen. It produced awfully good food. It had old-fashioned glass-paned cabinets with matching dishware from the Netherlands in them. It had a tiny Muggle washer/dryer that actually did get the clothing dry if one flicked one’s wand right when the time ticked down to five minutes and forty-three seconds. It even had a small bar with three expensive oak stools, and a set of copper cooking pots hanging from a rack over the stove. Harry rather liked his kitchen.
Unfortunately, it was not providing him with a single way to escape the person who was presently perched on the end of one of the dining room chairs as if it would irreversibly sully her perfect pure blood.
Harry glanced back at the half-open door and swallowed. She had declined tea. She had declined coffee. She had even declined chocolate truffles, for which Harry was actually grateful, seeing as how there were only four left and Draco would hex him if the raspberry cream and toffee with triple sec got eaten by anyone but himself. But she had declined wine as well, and Harry had barely been able to think of the water he already had boiling on the stove and how he “had better turn it off, please excuse me.”
Harry looked woefully at the very cold pot of not-boiling water and wished he had taken a little more out of Draco’s book about how to deal with members of well-to-do wizarding families when they unexpectedly dropped by one’s Knightsbridge home. He thought Draco’s book would be especially helpful in this case, as the person was a member of Draco’s well-to-do wizarding family.
There was nothing else for it; Harry took a deep breath and re-entered the dining room with a muttered apology. He drew out a chair across the table and sat down, licking his lips.
Narcissa Malfoy stared back coldly across the mahogany, and Harry was struck by how very much Draco resembled his mother. He’d always known that Lucius Malfoy had been the bearer of most of Draco’s singular features, but it was clear that Narcissa had given much to her son in terms of invisible characteristics: bearing, temperance, and that cold edge Harry could still feel on a bad day. The woman’s pale eyes moved slowly from his face down to his hand where it rested on the tabletop, and narrowed. Harry swallowed again.
“I do hope this is your house,” she said in a chilly voice. Harry glanced around, more to keep from looking at her than to confirm the house’s existence.
“I… Well, it’s—”
“Nothing so plebeian will be permitted into my son’s appropriations. You will of course be keeping it after this nonsense is concluded.” She sniffed distastefully and shifted in the chair as if she wished nothing better than to levitate her own body and save herself the shame of touching such a thing.
Harry blinked. “This… nonsense?”
Narcissa curled her lip, smoothing one hand over the delicate cloth of her dress. She touched a finger to her perfectly coifed hair. “Mr. Potter. I have deigned to come here for one purpose, and one purpose only. Your willingness to agree is not important, nor is it necessary. But you will be expected to cooperate.”
“I don’t understand,” Harry said, but he was beginning to fear that he did.
“My son is a young man. Easily given to whims.” Narcissa gave a long-suffering sigh, as if she had been dealing with this situation for years. “But he knows his place and he will not be distracted from it, not even by such an important person as you.”
The contemptuous sneer she turned on Harry made his heart thud. He spread his fingers on the table and tried to ignore the fluttering in his stomach. “I’m not distracting him.”
A long, pale finger with one ornate ring on it was suddenly pointing at his left hand. “That is a distraction, and it will not be tolerated.”
Harry stared at the single gold band around his ring finger. It was slightly rounded, with the tiny details of a snake winding thinly along the edge closest to his palm. He opened his mouth, but Narcissa’s next words cut through.
“I grow weary of this game my son is playing. That is a family heirloom and you will remove it from your person immediately.”
For the first time Harry’s anger flared. He looked up and met Narcissa’s eyes. “Your son gave it to me very knowingly,” he said, “and I have no intention of giving it back.”
Narcissa’s eyes narrowed. There was a gleam in them that Harry did not like. “You cannot honestly believe that he meant to follow through on that?” she said. Her voice had laughter beneath the surface. Harry’s heart stung.
“Yes,” he muttered. Then, more firmly, “Yes, I believe he did. Does.”
Narcissa clucked her tongue. Her sneer was positively incredulous. “My son never had any intention of doing any such thing. By all that is Slytherin, where do you Gryffindors get your delusions?”
Harry’s stomach twisted familiarly, but he held on to the anger. “Sorry, but I don’t see how you could possibly know what he said. But then again, you were definitely not there that day.” He paused, but it was dying to get out: “Or the night after.”
Narcissa’s eyes went so frosty Harry jumped. She drew herself rigid and for a long instant, Harry regretted letting the last bit out. Narcissa’s expression suddenly reminded him frighteningly of her husband’s.
“Let me see if I understand you correctly, Mr. Potter,” she said in a soft voice. “You sound very certain of my son’s affections. Obviously he was the one to ask you for this… commitment?”
Harry’s throat dried. Don’t look away, his mind hissed, but it was already done and suddenly he was staring at the table again. By the time he forced his attention back to the woman sitting across from him, he could see it was too late for cover-ups.
He swallowed. Lots of swallowing this evening. “I asked him.”
“And he agreed.” Narcissa nodded and sat back with a satisfied smile on her lips. “Yes, he has a habit of doing that. Caught up by your considerable… charms. And tell me, Potter, did he set the date right then, or did he wait until after you had concluded your nightly activities?”
Harry’s stomach was turning over inside him now. He had often felt it trying to do so over the past four months, but he’d been able to ignore it until now. The fact of the matter had just never been thrown in his face like this before. And the fact of the matter was that there was no date. He had summoned the courage to speak to Draco about it tonight, actually. But he’d be damned if he told her that.
Narcissa raised her chin just enough to stare down her nose at Harry. “Frankly, Mr. Potter, it matters little whether you are choosing to lie to me or not. You wine and dine him, and you entertain him, and that sort of thing holds his attention. Perhaps he is even a bit more interested than normal. But I need not demand the ring from you; it will be returned to its rightful place soon enough. It always has been.”
Harry looked up sharply and Narcissa’s face became positively knowing. “But perhaps you had no knowledge of Pansy Parkinson. She was a classmate of yours, I believe. Or of the delightful heir of the Saffold-Insbrook estate. The eldest son in a very powerful wizarding line. Yes, my son has his fun, but that ring always comes back home eventually.”
She stood with a slither of black silk and fixed him with a gaze that shattered whatever fight he may have had left.
“I expect you to be out of his life by the next new moon, Mr. Potter. He will have worked the kinks out of his system by then, and be finished with this childish behavior.”
She left with a swish of skirts and nary a word of goodnight. Harry sat at the table in silence for the next twenty minutes, and then made his way down the hall to the bedroom.
When Draco came in around midnight, treading softly as a cat and shedding his clothing with the merest whisper, Harry heard every movement. He stared at the wall, curled on his side, until he felt the bed dip. Draco’s arm slid around his waist and there was a warm pressure against his back. A moment of gentle breathing, then…
“You’re awake.” Draco’s voice was soft, surprised. Harry hesitated, then turned a bit so he could see his lover. The moonlight lit one side of the other man’s face with a silvery glow. Draco’s eyes moved over Harry’s expression in silence, a soft smile on his lips. His breath smelled of raspberry and toffee.
“How was your day?”
“Uneventful,” Harry said. He took a breath. “Yours?”
“Same. New potion went through licensing, finally.” Draco yawned, then blinked twice. “Oh… you said there was something you wanted to talk about tonight?”
Harry opened his mouth, closed it, and shook his head. Draco’s smile held faint curiosity. He bent and nuzzled a kiss at the corner of Harry’s mouth, then gave another yawn and curled against Harry’s back. “It’s late anyway,” he murmured.
Harry nodded, stroking Draco’s arm with an absent finger. By the time Draco’s breathing evened out, Harry's hand had stilled over the top of the other man’s, and he could feel the cool metal of the simple silver band Draco wore. Harry blinked at the wall, still very much awake.
...
Part 4: That Way of Thinking
......
Thanks for reading!
Title: The Fact of the Matter
Author: me
Pairing: H/D
Rating: PG
Summary: Harry gets a very unwelcome visit. (The third in the Marriage arc, after Ways to Say No and What Malfoys Do.)
Disclaimer: NOT MINE. Oh, I wish. Don't we all.
....
Part 3:
The Fact of the Matter
Harry stood in his kitchen and stared. It was a nice kitchen. It produced awfully good food. It had old-fashioned glass-paned cabinets with matching dishware from the Netherlands in them. It had a tiny Muggle washer/dryer that actually did get the clothing dry if one flicked one’s wand right when the time ticked down to five minutes and forty-three seconds. It even had a small bar with three expensive oak stools, and a set of copper cooking pots hanging from a rack over the stove. Harry rather liked his kitchen.
Unfortunately, it was not providing him with a single way to escape the person who was presently perched on the end of one of the dining room chairs as if it would irreversibly sully her perfect pure blood.
Harry glanced back at the half-open door and swallowed. She had declined tea. She had declined coffee. She had even declined chocolate truffles, for which Harry was actually grateful, seeing as how there were only four left and Draco would hex him if the raspberry cream and toffee with triple sec got eaten by anyone but himself. But she had declined wine as well, and Harry had barely been able to think of the water he already had boiling on the stove and how he “had better turn it off, please excuse me.”
Harry looked woefully at the very cold pot of not-boiling water and wished he had taken a little more out of Draco’s book about how to deal with members of well-to-do wizarding families when they unexpectedly dropped by one’s Knightsbridge home. He thought Draco’s book would be especially helpful in this case, as the person was a member of Draco’s well-to-do wizarding family.
There was nothing else for it; Harry took a deep breath and re-entered the dining room with a muttered apology. He drew out a chair across the table and sat down, licking his lips.
Narcissa Malfoy stared back coldly across the mahogany, and Harry was struck by how very much Draco resembled his mother. He’d always known that Lucius Malfoy had been the bearer of most of Draco’s singular features, but it was clear that Narcissa had given much to her son in terms of invisible characteristics: bearing, temperance, and that cold edge Harry could still feel on a bad day. The woman’s pale eyes moved slowly from his face down to his hand where it rested on the tabletop, and narrowed. Harry swallowed again.
“I do hope this is your house,” she said in a chilly voice. Harry glanced around, more to keep from looking at her than to confirm the house’s existence.
“I… Well, it’s—”
“Nothing so plebeian will be permitted into my son’s appropriations. You will of course be keeping it after this nonsense is concluded.” She sniffed distastefully and shifted in the chair as if she wished nothing better than to levitate her own body and save herself the shame of touching such a thing.
Harry blinked. “This… nonsense?”
Narcissa curled her lip, smoothing one hand over the delicate cloth of her dress. She touched a finger to her perfectly coifed hair. “Mr. Potter. I have deigned to come here for one purpose, and one purpose only. Your willingness to agree is not important, nor is it necessary. But you will be expected to cooperate.”
“I don’t understand,” Harry said, but he was beginning to fear that he did.
“My son is a young man. Easily given to whims.” Narcissa gave a long-suffering sigh, as if she had been dealing with this situation for years. “But he knows his place and he will not be distracted from it, not even by such an important person as you.”
The contemptuous sneer she turned on Harry made his heart thud. He spread his fingers on the table and tried to ignore the fluttering in his stomach. “I’m not distracting him.”
A long, pale finger with one ornate ring on it was suddenly pointing at his left hand. “That is a distraction, and it will not be tolerated.”
Harry stared at the single gold band around his ring finger. It was slightly rounded, with the tiny details of a snake winding thinly along the edge closest to his palm. He opened his mouth, but Narcissa’s next words cut through.
“I grow weary of this game my son is playing. That is a family heirloom and you will remove it from your person immediately.”
For the first time Harry’s anger flared. He looked up and met Narcissa’s eyes. “Your son gave it to me very knowingly,” he said, “and I have no intention of giving it back.”
Narcissa’s eyes narrowed. There was a gleam in them that Harry did not like. “You cannot honestly believe that he meant to follow through on that?” she said. Her voice had laughter beneath the surface. Harry’s heart stung.
“Yes,” he muttered. Then, more firmly, “Yes, I believe he did. Does.”
Narcissa clucked her tongue. Her sneer was positively incredulous. “My son never had any intention of doing any such thing. By all that is Slytherin, where do you Gryffindors get your delusions?”
Harry’s stomach twisted familiarly, but he held on to the anger. “Sorry, but I don’t see how you could possibly know what he said. But then again, you were definitely not there that day.” He paused, but it was dying to get out: “Or the night after.”
Narcissa’s eyes went so frosty Harry jumped. She drew herself rigid and for a long instant, Harry regretted letting the last bit out. Narcissa’s expression suddenly reminded him frighteningly of her husband’s.
“Let me see if I understand you correctly, Mr. Potter,” she said in a soft voice. “You sound very certain of my son’s affections. Obviously he was the one to ask you for this… commitment?”
Harry’s throat dried. Don’t look away, his mind hissed, but it was already done and suddenly he was staring at the table again. By the time he forced his attention back to the woman sitting across from him, he could see it was too late for cover-ups.
He swallowed. Lots of swallowing this evening. “I asked him.”
“And he agreed.” Narcissa nodded and sat back with a satisfied smile on her lips. “Yes, he has a habit of doing that. Caught up by your considerable… charms. And tell me, Potter, did he set the date right then, or did he wait until after you had concluded your nightly activities?”
Harry’s stomach was turning over inside him now. He had often felt it trying to do so over the past four months, but he’d been able to ignore it until now. The fact of the matter had just never been thrown in his face like this before. And the fact of the matter was that there was no date. He had summoned the courage to speak to Draco about it tonight, actually. But he’d be damned if he told her that.
Narcissa raised her chin just enough to stare down her nose at Harry. “Frankly, Mr. Potter, it matters little whether you are choosing to lie to me or not. You wine and dine him, and you entertain him, and that sort of thing holds his attention. Perhaps he is even a bit more interested than normal. But I need not demand the ring from you; it will be returned to its rightful place soon enough. It always has been.”
Harry looked up sharply and Narcissa’s face became positively knowing. “But perhaps you had no knowledge of Pansy Parkinson. She was a classmate of yours, I believe. Or of the delightful heir of the Saffold-Insbrook estate. The eldest son in a very powerful wizarding line. Yes, my son has his fun, but that ring always comes back home eventually.”
She stood with a slither of black silk and fixed him with a gaze that shattered whatever fight he may have had left.
“I expect you to be out of his life by the next new moon, Mr. Potter. He will have worked the kinks out of his system by then, and be finished with this childish behavior.”
She left with a swish of skirts and nary a word of goodnight. Harry sat at the table in silence for the next twenty minutes, and then made his way down the hall to the bedroom.
When Draco came in around midnight, treading softly as a cat and shedding his clothing with the merest whisper, Harry heard every movement. He stared at the wall, curled on his side, until he felt the bed dip. Draco’s arm slid around his waist and there was a warm pressure against his back. A moment of gentle breathing, then…
“You’re awake.” Draco’s voice was soft, surprised. Harry hesitated, then turned a bit so he could see his lover. The moonlight lit one side of the other man’s face with a silvery glow. Draco’s eyes moved over Harry’s expression in silence, a soft smile on his lips. His breath smelled of raspberry and toffee.
“How was your day?”
“Uneventful,” Harry said. He took a breath. “Yours?”
“Same. New potion went through licensing, finally.” Draco yawned, then blinked twice. “Oh… you said there was something you wanted to talk about tonight?”
Harry opened his mouth, closed it, and shook his head. Draco’s smile held faint curiosity. He bent and nuzzled a kiss at the corner of Harry’s mouth, then gave another yawn and curled against Harry’s back. “It’s late anyway,” he murmured.
Harry nodded, stroking Draco’s arm with an absent finger. By the time Draco’s breathing evened out, Harry's hand had stilled over the top of the other man’s, and he could feel the cool metal of the simple silver band Draco wore. Harry blinked at the wall, still very much awake.
...
Part 4: That Way of Thinking
......
Thanks for reading!
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no subject
Date: 2005-07-31 10:37 pm (UTC)From:*waits anxiously for next chapter*
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Date: 2005-07-31 11:25 pm (UTC)From:Your review made me grin. It was like reading fic commentary, like a voice over to a cliff-hanger ending of a show! *loves* Thank you. Thanks for reading it, for liking it... ^______^
Heh, as to the next chapter, it may be a bit, but there will definitely be another chapter.